I don�t even know where to start this one. Oh, wait, I know � I hate people. There, done, that�s a nice way to kick this off.
No. That�s unfair. That�s not the issue here, and as it is it�s generally been less true here than it usually is. As for the real issue�
I don�t know.
That�s the big problem � I don�t know. I don�t know what it is that I want, that I don�t, that I�m looking for, that I�m running from. I just can�t tell anymore, and there�s no way for me to separate them. Like people. I can�t tell if I don�t want to be around people, if I dislike them that much, or if I really do want to see them, hear them, talk to them, know them� and if that�s the case, why don�t I? Fear? I�m afraid of the people I know I like, but what about the others? And is that fear or something else? Too many questions, not enough answers.
I feel� restless every night. At least this I�m sure of. What I don�t know yet is how to handle it. I know for a fact its not real parties. Even chilling however many doors down isn�t quite enough, and I don�t know what�s missing from that. Movement? Solidity?
I don�t know. Walking again, but where to?
Drinking brings disjointedness, makes me confrontational enough to take a look at myself. I don�t know whether or not it helps my writing, though.
I need privacy, I need space, I need a bed in the middle of the room where I can lay down and stare at the ceiling and people can still see me. Observed privacy, what�s the point? I want people to break my privacy by choice, not by necessity. Why don�t I do it first? Not quite fear of rejection, more Jim Henson syndrome � I don�t want to bother anyone on my account. I have too many problems based on that one idea. And I�m afraid of being forgotten. That�s the big one. I�m afraid that once destination has been reached, the partnership is over. All the promises of fun and good time turn into a point towards something and the back of a friend disappearing into the crowd, leaving me alone with everything I never wanted. Taken and left, is the thing.